


In Medius Triduum

by St_Salieri



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Episode: s07e22 Chosen, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-14
Updated: 2008-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:11:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/St_Salieri/pseuds/St_Salieri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Mr. Gordo escaped from the ruins of Sunnydale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Medius Triduum

"You should be prepared for what might happen if you fail," Giles warned her in the privacy of the basement. She glanced up to see him surveying the inventory of knives they were cataloging. "Eighteen. Nineteen, including the one in Faith's room. It will have to be enough." He cleared his throat, hesitating before continuing. "Whoever survives should plan on creating a second front outside of town."

"Angel's on it," she muttered, only half listening. Half of the swords in their little arsenal were in desperate need of sharpening, and where in the hell did all of the stakes go? From overhead she could hear the interminable thump of feet as girls ran back and forth, inside and out, up and down stairs. It must be noon already. Only two more hours before they set this whole plan in motion. Her stomach clenched, and she closed her eyes and let out a long breath. Too late, she realized that Giles had been talking to her.

"Huh? Sorry. Little distracted."

He smiled indulgently. "I said, you might want to consider collecting anything you consider to be important. Win or lose, it's unlikely that you'll be able to come back here for some time."

She placed the sword she'd been cleaning gently on the floor next to the others. It gleamed in the dim light, all hard lines and angles. She'd always loved the way her weapons shone before the inevitable baptism by blood.

"You really think so?"

She spoke quietly, her eyes on the sword in front of her, but listened intently to the sound of Giles' soft footsteps as he walked over to crouch down next to her.

"I do," he admitted. "Opening the Hellmouth is a risky proposition under the best of circumstances. With an army of these creatures waiting for you...well, I don't think this town will be safe for long. It's best to prepare, just in case. Not that I'm expecting the worst, mind you. But...."

She looked up at him then and gave him a gallows grin.

"You don't think I can do this, do you?"

He hesitated a moment, then chuckled wryly. "I should know better, shouldn't I? If there's one thing I've learned from the years of being your Watcher, it's that even your most insane plans seem to have a way of working out." He squeezed her shoulder. It felt like an apology. "And I have faith that this one will be no different."

She nodded solemnly, reaching up to squeeze his arm in return. "What are you talking about?" she asked lightly. "This plan is chock full of sanity. You know, from my point of view."

He rolled his eyes, as she knew he would. "That's what worries me," he muttered, and they shared a laugh that echoed around the dark corners of the room.

 

********************

She knelt on the living room floor with the backpack in front of her. People rushed by carrying blankets and bags and piles of weapons, but she paid no attention. If they asked her any questions, she missed them. Soon, very soon now, she would need to go back to being their leader, but she had to take the time to do this first.

She checked the wristwatch and shoved it into the back pocket of her jeans. Half an hour to go. Just a few minutes to pick over the remains of her life, to decide which memories were worth saving. The backpack was almost full, and she had the panicky feeling she always felt right before taking a trip. What if she was forgetting something important? _Should I take the deed to the house? Where **is** the deed to the house? And oh God, where did Mom put our birth certificates? That's important, right?_

A heavy pair of boots skirted the patch of sunlight that spread halfway across the room and stopped next to her bag.

"Planning a vacation, pet? I hear the Hellmouth is nice this time of year."

She looked up to see Spike smirking down at her.

"Shut up," she said weakly. "I'm just trying to get some stuff together. Giles thought it would be important, and I agree with him. You know...just in case. Dawn's making one too."

"Ah." He nodded and knelt down next to her. "That explains why Giles had some of the Slayerettes lugging his piles of books and whatnot into the school bus." He snorted in disgust. "You know, I could have nicked something a little flashier."

"Like an RV?" she asked dryly, sorting through her bag for the twentieth time. She had that sinking feeling she was forgetting something, but for the life of her she couldn't think of what it was. _Passports, check. Wallet, check. Hair dryer...nah._ She pulled it out and dumped it into the discard pile.

"So what've you got in there?" Spike asked, pulling the edge of the bag aside with one finger. He raised his eyebrows at the stuffed pig peeking at them from inside the backpack. "Yes. These are clearly objects of great importance," he said gravely.

She smacked his hand away, giving him a small smile. "Don't knock Mr. Gordo. He has great sentimental value." She sighed, resisting the urge to start on the twenty-first resorting. "I've got, you know, some important papers, some of my mom's jewelry, a lot of pictures. It's just so hard to choose. Everything means something."

"It does," Spike said absently. She looked up at him.

"I guess it's good the rest of the girls were already traveling light. What about you? Anything you need to take with you? It may be a while before we get back."

He smiled humorlessly and unearthed the amulet she'd given him from a pocket of his jeans. "This is pretty much all I've got," he said softly. "Don't think I'll need much else."

A sudden sound of thunder made her think that a herd of elephants was descending the stairs. Dawn came barreling down the last few stairs and around the corner.

"There you are!" she panted. "Do you know where my old diaries are? The ones I didn't burn?"

"Check in that box in the back of Mom's closet. She may have put them there."

Dawn breathed a sigh of relief and disappeared back up the stairs, leaving the two of them alone again.

Spike winced. "Has anyone ever told that girl that she walks like a pack of Fyral? Drunk ones?"

She laughed. "Don't even get me started. Mom tried fining her a dollar every time she made the dining room chandelier shake. But she's gotten better. I told her I wouldn't take her patrolling with me until she learned to walk quietly." She looked up at Spike to see him running his finger over the surface of the amulet.

"Are you ready?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," he breathed. "For whatever comes."

He met her eyes briefly, then looked away before she could make a guess as to what he was thinking. Quick as a flash, she reached out and grabbed his wrist. He hadn't made a move to get up, but she suddenly felt like he was getting ready to leave her all the same.

"Spike," she said, her voice low. "I know it's been...with everything that's going on, you...." She shook her head and gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I really suck at this. But I just wanted to say thank you again. You know, for everything you've done recently. And maybe when all this is over, we can, I don't know...talk? Or something?"

She looked up at him through her eyelashes, just in time to see a look of sorrow cross his face before he smoothed it out and gave her a crooked smile.

"I'd like that," he said simply, running his fingers over her smaller ones for a long moment. He smiled at her sideways then, all flash and heat, and the old Spike was back. "Although I must say, we always did our best talking without using any words."

She huffed in mock disgust, pulling her hand back while her face flushed pink and his laugh echoed in her ears. He stood then, taking up her backpack.

"I'll put this in the bus for you. Make sure Mr. Piggy gets a good seat."

"Thanks," she said fervently. "I should really do one last weapon's check before we load everyone on board." She eyed the sun outside nervously as Spike walked to the front door. "Just be careful and don't burn up, okay?"

He flashed his teeth at her. "Wouldn't think of it." And then he disappeared through the door.

 

********************

Her eyes felt dry and gritty. Even after three separate showers, it seemed like she couldn't rid herself of the sand of the desert.

Of course, the fact that she hadn't slept in two days probably wasn't helping either.

The thin bedspread was rough under her bare legs where she sat cross-legged on the bed. The air conditioner across the room groaned before sputtering to life, and after a moment a deliciously cool breeze washed over her flushed skin. Angel had taken care of finding rooms for all of them, and although the motel was nothing to write home about....

She winced. There was no home to write home to.

It was simply too big to think about yet. She could picture the vast crater that had engulfed Sunnydale - her home, her school, the graveyard where she'd once slept - but it didn't feel real. Nothing felt real at the moment, and she was worried about what would happen when it finally hit her. She was too keyed up to sleep, afraid of what she'd dream about when she finally closed her eyes.

The backpack had been sitting unopened on the bed in front of her for the last hour. As long as she didn't open it, the contents existed only in a virtual realm of maybes. Everything was in there, nothing forgotten. And if she wished hard enough, she'd be able to crawl inside and emerge out the other end into her bedroom, just like when she was five and had built caves of chairs and blankets.

She reached for the latch. Her hand shook - fatigue, surely - and she clenched it into a fist before grabbing the bag and jerking it open.

She sifted through the contents by touch, her eyes fixed on the garish bedspread. Her fingers drifted over soft fur and tangled in the thin chains of necklaces. She knew her mom's favorite lipstick by touch, as well as the frame that held the picture of her, Willow and Xander in the old days before the town had needed a new high school. She felt the watch she'd tossed in there after the battle, its hands frozen at an everlasting 3:00, at the moment when healing sunlight had torn through the Hellmouth and destroyed it forever. The moment when....

She moved on before she could examine that particular memory too closely. Down at the bottom of the bag, her fingers ran across something she didn't remember putting in there - something small, cool and metallic that felt vaguely familiar. Frowning, she drew it out.

In the palm of her hand was a battered silver lighter. He must have slipped it into her bag when he put it on the bus, almost like he'd known.

_Everything means something._

Buffy clutched the lighter tightly in her hand, and for the first time in two days, she cried.

 


End file.
